


Thunderstruck

by katajainen



Series: 1001 ways of confessing your love: Gigolas edition [1]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Battle of the Hornburg | Battle of Helm's Deep, Braids, Fluff and Smut, Gratuitous Smut, Love Confessions, M/M, One Shot, Semi-Public Sex, Smut, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-18
Updated: 2015-12-18
Packaged: 2018-05-07 10:59:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5454215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katajainen/pseuds/katajainen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Right before the Battle of Helm's Deep, Legolas and Gimli have a very important conversation. Afterwards, they find joy in the fact they're both still alive to enjoy one another.</p><p>Or: sweet nothings followed by gratuitous smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thunderstruck

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Saraste](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saraste/gifts).



> This is for Saraste and her beautiful handwriting for helping me out with Christmas cards.
> 
> Note: this follows the book canon on the Battle of Helm's Deep - i.e. no mighty Elven hosts here :)
> 
> Otherwise: nothing much in the way of plot, just sweet romance and (hopefully) enjoyable smut.

On the top of the Deeping Wall, Legolas leaned against the parapet next to him. 

‘Surely even your eyes can’t make out anything in pitch darkness?’ asked Gimli, peering down.

‘Only torches, scurrying this way and that. But the voices carry well enough.’

And that’s what they did. The jabbering, screeching, discordant orc-voices, echoing from the hills in the oppressive stillness before the storm.

‘‘Tis like watching an anthill broken apart. If ants had torches.’

‘Or jaws of steel.’

‘At least they’re alike in number.’

‘That they are.’ Legolas turned to him. ‘I’m afeared of what the night will bring. Even with these walls, even with the skill of arms we both possess, even with the courage of our comrades, there’s no guarantee either of us will see the dawn again.’

‘That’s but the way of it. Always has been, always will. Can’t dwell on it, or it will leech the fight right out of you.’

Legolas looked him in the eye, his gaze seeming to shimmer in what little light there was.

‘I could not bear it if you were to fall.’ he said quietly. An almost inaudible roll of thunder grumbled far in the distance. ‘I know this is not the time nor the place, but I feel I must speak now or forever regret my silence.’ He fell silent for a moment, as if struggling for words. 

‘Gimli, my friend, my dearest friend, it chills me to my very soul to think that you were to go into death ignorant of my regard for you.’ His voice almost broke. ‘I want you to know – no, I need you to know that I can’t no longer ignore the way my heart turns to you like a lodestone to the Northern Star. My star. My fierce Northern Star.’

Gimli gasped. ‘Surely... I surely have not told you. But that’s what my use-name, my sky-name means. A star.’

‘Then your parents chose aptly, for you shine out to me like a banner of flame in the darkness.’

‘But ‘tis but months since we first met... how can it be that you...’ Now Gimli found his own voice betraying him.

‘It can be and it is so. I know my haste is unseemly, but you must forgive me. If only we had more time, I would have stayed my tongue.’

‘Nay. I can understand haste in a time of war. ‘Tis myself I can’t forgive for not speaking out sooner.’ He sought out Legolas’ hand.

‘Since we walked together under the golden trees of Lothlórien, you have held my heart in the palm of your hand. I dared not speak, for the fear that I would assume too much, and thus destroy our friendship. Gladly I would have kept you beside me as a friend, unknowing, and kept my silence to the grave. And now you have proved wiser than me, but alas – we have no time!’ Gimli took a knife from his belt, undid the clasp holding his barrel braid and cut off a lock of hair. This he secured with a knot and pressed into Legolas’ hand.

‘Please accept this as a token of my affection. If only we had the time, I would gladly braid it into your hair properly. May it be that I’ll have the chance later.’

Legolas clutched Gimli’s offering in his and, then quickly stowed it securely inside his shirt and took his own knife. In turn, he placed a lock of his own hair into Gimli’s hand, closing both of his own hands around his.

‘Please accept this as a token of my affection. And – once the battle is done, please show me how to braid it into your hair.’

His hands were warm, his voice soft, and as he was already leaning towards Gimli, it was the easiest thing in the world for him to twine his free hand into that fine hair and draw Legolas down into a kiss.

Uncertainly at first, but then growing bolder by the moment, Legolas kissed him back, still holding his hand between his own. He tasted of warm lingering autumn under a canopy of golden trees, of dust rising up under swift-running feet on the plains of Rohan, of a long ride spent being pressed torturously close to a warm, solid body. If Gimli had been struck down there and then, his only regret would have been that he had not kissed Legolas earlier, longer, more often.

There was a sudden flash of light behind Gimli’s closed eyelids, followed closely by a deafening thunderclap. Next moment, the rain poured over the battlements. Chuckling, Gimli brushed wet hair from Legolas’ face.

‘Interrupted by the weather, of all things!’

‘But the orcs are not far behind.’ And as if to affirm Legolas’ words, a stray arrow clattered of the parapet inches from their joined hands. Gimli quickly stowed Legolas’ token safely away and took up his axe.

‘Afterwards, I’ll show you how to braid. That’s a promise.’

‘Please do, my love. I’d love to learn.’ And Legolas’ face, lit by the lightning-flash, was white, glorious and smiling, as he stole a final kiss from Gimli.

‘For luck.’ Gimli read from his lips as the thunder rolled over them.

 

* * *

 

It was a little while past noon on the day after the battle when Gimli woke up to find Legolas sitting beside his bedroll. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep, merely to rest awhile after having Aragorn fuss over the scratch on his forehead. He touched the fresh bandage; it felt dry under his fingers, so the wound could hardly even be bleeding any more.

‘You frightened me, disappearing the way you did.’ said Legolas, clasping his hand, his eyes dark and tense.

‘Believe me, it was not by intention. But as you can see, your token brought me just enough luck to win through – and to beat your count by one.’ But Gimli knew that the urgency with which his fingers clasped Legolas’ belied his light words. He looked down at their joined hands, his stout and broad fingers entwined between Legolas’ longer, more slender ones, darker against the pale skin. It felt like a perfect fit.

His gaze travelled up to a pale sinewy wrist disappear into a jacket sleeve, to a pulse visibly beating on the neck exposed by the half-open collar, to parted lips so obviously in need of kissing. He felt the blood sing in his veins like he was in the heat of the battle still, but it was not blood-lust driving him, as he pulled on his boots, stood up and drew the Elf – his Elf – after him through the corridor. Surely there was a place, surely there was some quiet nook in the whole of Hornburg where they could be alone for a moment?

Legolas followed him with a smile.

‘I thought you wanted to show me braiding?’

Gimli drew his hand to his lips for a quick kiss.

‘Later.’

Three rounds up the winding stair they were hidden from view of everyone not actually climbing up, and at present the stairs only led to the crumbled battlements. His feet on the step above the landing where Legolas stood, Gimli pressed the Elf against the wall, claiming his mouth like he could not get enough of it. He felt a long-fingered hand slide up his shoulder to cradle the back of his head, the other wrapping around his waist, the fingers quickly finding their way under the loose hem of his shirt. Gimli gasped at their tentative caress on his bare skin, pressing himself tighter against Legolas.

Soon, Legolas had both hands roaming under Gimli’s shirt, and Gimli’s fingers were busy at the fastenings on the Elf’s jacket. He was pressing a kiss upon kiss on the pulse fluttering beneath the skin of the pale neck. He undid the last clasp and let the jacket drop unceremoniously at their feet. The collar had laces.

‘Elves and their complicated clothing...’ Gimli muttered as he set to the task. Legolas laughed.

‘And all the layers of armour you favour are surely the simplest of garments?’

Kissing him silent, Gimli yanked at the stubborn knot and heard something tear.

‘Sorry.’

‘Never mind that.’ said Legolas, hiking up Gimli’s own shirt. ‘Please allow me.’

The draft was cold on Gimli’s bare skin, but he felt a warm flush go through him under Legolas’ gaze.

‘I always wondered...’ the Elf whispered, running his fingers through Gimli’s chest hair.

‘But surely you have seen me shirtless before?’ asked Gimli, gasping as a finger brushed against a nipple.

‘Oh, but I wondered if it would feel as soft as it looked like.’ Legolas answered, dipping his head to follow fingers with lips and tongue.

Suddenly finding himself pressed against the stone wall, Gimli bit back a moan, arching into Legolas’ touch. Then he felt fingers on his breeches, pulling at the laces fastening them.

‘You hasty, wicked creature...’ he whispered in Legolas’ hair as the laces gave in and long fingers finally wrapped around his aching length.

‘Oh yes...’

When Legolas knelt in front of him, a small private smile on his lips, the dark eyes holding his gaze, and took him in his mouth, Gimli was sure he would go over the edge there and then. How he managed not to, Mahal only knew, but he held on with his knees trembling, hands finding purchase on strong shoulders, his breath coming in ragged gasps as the slick velvety heat descended on him again and again.

But holding on could only go so far. And he wanted to make this good. Wanted to make this as good as he could.

‘Please,’ he gasped. ‘Legolas, have mercy, please stop.’

‘Why?’ Legolas asked, tip of tongue darting out to lick his lips.

‘Because want to hold you, because I need you to hold me.’ Gimli drew Legolas up from the floor and kissed him, tasting himself on those warm lips that he had never dreamed could smile like they had just done.

‘I want to know how good you feel against my naked skin, and I see you’re still wearing far too many clothes, you contrary creature.’ He added, brushing his hand against the front of Legolas’ breeches, drawing out a gasp. Busying his fingers with the knots and lacings, he kept kissing Legolas, discovering a sweet spot behind the left ear that drew out a strained Sindarin whisper that sounded more like swearing than anything Elvish Gimli had heard before.

Legolas stepped out of his breeches with surprising grace for someone stripping on a landing in a draughty, barely lit stairwell. As they sank to the floor, Gimli finally drew the shirt off him, kissing every inch of leanly muscled stomach and chest as it became available. He couldn’t resist sucking a nipple to his mouth, nibbling and biting it gently until it glistened pink and swollen in the dim light and Legolas clung to him, moaning and out of breath, his cock just brushing against his own.

It was awkward: the floor was hard and cold, Gimli still had his breeches around his ankles while he had a lap full of naked, squirming Elf, whose long limbs seemed to be everywhere at once. What made up for the shortcomings was that he indeed held in his lap one very naked, very eager and very agile Elf, who made the most maddening little noises as they moved together, trying to find the one angle, the one twist and tilt that would fit and slide them against one other just so.

It wasn’t quite a gasp, not quite a sigh nor quite a moan, the breathy sound Legolas made as Gimli pushed against him, reaching out with one hand to grab his behind, fingertips stroking the impossibly smooth skin between the buttocks. When Gimli flicked a hard, pebbled nipple with his tongue, the sound changed to a chanted ‘Please please please...’, and to what still sounded like swearing in Sindarin when he bit into a tender spot at his right collarbone. As Gimli spread his fingers to grasp both their cocks, Legolas seemed almost to forget breathing altogether. Then with a low shuddering moan, he moved with him, into his hand, against him, until he could not do more than cling to Gimli, fingernails biting into his back, stifling a throaty cry on his shoulder, trembling as his release washed through him. 

And with that, Gimli stopped holding on, let himself go. Legolas was furnace-hot against his chest, the arms embracing him solid and strong. He was alive, Legolas was alive, they were in love – for all that they might both die tomorrow. He felt slender fingers wrap around his own come-slicked ones, and with a drawn-out moan, went over the edge, flying.

For a while they lay in a tangle of limbs, sweat and come drying on their skin, waiting for their breathing to slow down. From where he rested his head on Legolas’ chest, Gimli could hear his racing heartbeat grow steady again.

‘Your beard tickles.’

‘Better get used to it.’ Gimli retorted, deliberately dragging his chin along bare skin as he snuggled up to kiss his Elf.

‘I didn’t say it I didn’t like it.’ And Legolas had better stop smiling like that or they would never get their clothes back on. What was it in that little smirk that went arrow-straight through Gimli and stirred the desire up again, even after what they had just shared?

‘Now will you braid my hair?’ Legolas drew his legs underneath him, sitting naked on the bare stone floor, careless as you please. Careless, tousled, smelling of sex, utterly desirable. His. To love and to hold and to cherish. Gimli shook his head and tossed a shirt at the Elf.

‘Get some clothes on first – or I won’t keep my hands to your hair.’

‘You say it like it’s a bad thing.’ And there was that smirk again, and Gimli simply had to kiss it because he could.

‘Now, my resourceful companion, you wouldn’t have a handkerchief on you, would you?’ he ask, frowning at the sticky mess rapidly drying on his stomach.

 

* * *

 

When they finally came down the stair they found Aragorn waiting in the hallway.

‘I came congratulate you on finally coming to an understanding, but it seemed you could use the privacy more.’ A small smile lit up his weary face.

‘And I might have discouraged some who might have otherwise intruded.’

‘You knew the whole time, you sneaky scoundrel?’ Gimli asked laughing.

‘Before you kissed him where half this army could have seen if it weren’t for the darkness? I knew of Legolas’ regard for you, but wasn’t certain about yours until last night. But then again -’ a shadow seemed to cross his features, ‘I have some experience of Elves in love.’

Legolas laid a hand on his arm. ‘I’m sorry if we have reminded you of some past sorrow.’

‘No, not of sorrow – of something beautiful that’s yet out of my reach. But -’ he remarked, smiling again, ‘you have something new in your hair – and you as well, Gimli.’

Gimli lifted his hand to the lighter hair braided into his own.

‘A custom of our people. They’re promise-braids.’

‘A promise to marry, once – if there ever is peace again.’ said Legolas quietly.

‘Then we all have an equal reason to hope for victory. But now –’ Aragorn wrapped an arm around both their shoulders, ‘I hear there’s a meal being prepared for those riding out to Isengard come nightfall. I say we have cause for some quiet celebration, at least.’

And so Legolas and Gimli went on to face whatever the night and coming days would bring, happy in one another and finding their true strength in that happiness.

**Author's Note:**

> After the struggle I had with my last Gigolas fic, I'm more than little surprised by the way this one pretty much wrote itself. Note to self: plenty of dialogue seems to be the key.
> 
> And this was supposed to be a quick dirty tumble in some dark corner of Hornburg, but oh well...


End file.
